


the sun will set for you

by snowmotion



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Nature, Ocean, Seaside, Slow Burn, not a complicated story, peaceful setting, photographer!hanbin, surfer!jiwon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-26 04:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30100482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowmotion/pseuds/snowmotion
Summary: Jiwon comes and goes, unpredictable and free, like the tide. Hanbin longs and waits for him to come ashore, toes in sand.
Relationships: Kim Hanbin | B.I/Kim Jiwon | Bobby
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	1. teaser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer : english is not my first language. i'll try my best but please bear with me. if you notice any weird phrasing (and there will be), feel free to correct me C:

Hanbin lives in a run-down cottage near the beach, a few kilometres away from a small village no one knows about. He doesn't have a job, doesn't have money, doesn't have friends. The only thing he wants to do, the only thing he's passionate about, is nature photography. He edits his pictures of animals and landscapes on one obsolete, illegally downloaded software that he can't afford, and posts them on his unknown blog, for a dozen inactive followers to see.

One day, while strolling on the beach where he takes most of his shots, he gets bored and suddenly decides to take a few candid photos of a surfer he's seen multiple times before. He goes back home and posts them on his blog on a whim.

The next day, his popularity explodes.


	2. My body is but a broken seashell

Hanbin’s sitting at his old wooden desk, eyes fixated on his computer’s bright screen. Outside the wind is pushing against his windows, making his decayed cottage creak and hiss. There’s the distant sound of the sea, of the waves crashing against the rocks, the whistling of the scary blue depths. The dazzling sun shines all the way inside the cabin. It warms up the planks on the floor where his naked feet rest. The dry air is saturated with the smell of salt water and sand.

He deletes his application form again. It’s the third time he’s filled it then deleted it in a row. He exhales in disappointment and leans back in his uncomfortable chair. He doesn’t have the guts to enter this contest. He wouldn’t win anyway and he knows it. The photos he wants to submit aren’t that great, and he rushed the editing. Nothing’s going right for him.

He grabs his expensive camera and lifts his legs up on the table. Absent-mindedly he goes through his previous shots. Mainly of the ocean, the seagulls, the rocks. Wildlife and landscapes in all their dazzling glory. Without much conviction, he uploads his last few pictures to his blog. He knows there won’t be any views nor comments on them, but it’s like a habit at this point. Other people’s lack of interest in his work hurts his pride every time, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s got nothing else to lose.

Suddenly his computer shuts down. He freezes for a second, then sighs as he runs a hand through his short dark hair, and ruffles it. His luck’s the worst today. He gets up and puts on his old flip-flops. They look like they’ve seen better days, but they’re super sturdy. In his blue striped beach shorts and white tee, he opens the door and steps out onto the porch. Sand’s gone all the way up to his door, and it covers almost the entirety of the wooden planks. He sighs again. He last swept the floor not even an hour ago. He wonders why he even bothers.

He gets off his cottage onto the burning sand. He locates the cable going from under his house and starts following it. It’s like a furnace outside. It’s so hot the stuff in the distance looks all woozy. He climbs the gravel path back up the hill, heading towards an old and abandoned camping spot. It been closed since forever. No one ever comes here, except for the occasional travelers. There’s another lagoon up north, closer to the village, with a lot more people. That’s where normal folks go to take a dip. They don’t come all the way down to his beach, because the waves are strong and it can get dangerous. And it’s better that way. If there were too many visitors, he wouldn’t live there in the first place.

By the time he’s up the hill, he’s all sweaty and he hates it. Still he hops over the camping’s metallic fence, and lands on the other side. A few steps more and he’s standing by an outdated electrical hook-up box. His endless black cable comes out of the ground there, and is plugged into it. Basically, he’s stealing electricity. He kicks the post hard enough for it to actually budge. Then the thing zaps and starts emitting a buzzing sound. From experience, that means it’s working again.

While he heads back down, he takes a quick look around. See if there’s anything interesting, anything that would inspire him. On the sides of the dusty stone path, the grass’s all dried up and yellow. There are a few flies going about their disgusting business, probably looking for shit to munch on. From up there he can clearly see that today, the water’s too high for him to go and sit on the rocks. He’s bored as hell and his life’s a mess, but it’s not like he wants to die either.

He looks to the horizon. The waves aren’t that big, but just big enough to make beautiful blue cylinders on the ocean’s surface. They crash against the cliffs and project pretty water droplets all over. They creep up on the sand and leave white foam like a comet’s trail. It’s unbelievably peaceful.

And all of a sudden, he’s got it. His hands are itching, his thoughts are fuzzy and his eyes are sparkling. In those moments he knows exactly what to do. He rushes home and grabs his camera. Then he leaps onto the sand, brings it up to his face, and starts looking around. He forgets he even exists and dives deep into the reticle.

He tries to get a beautiful shot of the sea, when a random surfer appears from beneath a curling wave. His camera instantly focuses on the stranger and takes a picture. He stops immediately in his tracks, looks back at it, and stands there in shock.

Who’s this guy ruining his perfect shot ? Unbelievable.

He’s riding the current, sliding across the water like it’s nothing. He does weird tricks with his bright yellow surfboard ; flies off like he has rockets up his ass and lands back on his feet no problem. He’s “woo !”-ing and laughing so loud Hanbin can hear him from a mile away. Sometimes he disappears for a second behind the white sea foam, and he thinks he’s been swallowed by the ocean, but then he resurfaces looking even happier than he did before. He thinks he’s fucking aggravating, but for some reason… he can’t stop looking.

After who knows how long, the surfer lets the waves carry him back to the shore. He steps out of the water and pushes his unruly hair off his face. It’s a pretty golden color. He walks up to his belongings, on the beach, and shakes the water off himself like some huge dog. He plants his scratched-up board vertically into the sand, then he takes a red towel out his sports bag and slowly dries his ripped torso off with it. Hanbin rolls his eyes and looks away.

“Freaking show-off,” he mutters.

He knows he’s being unreasonably snappy but he rolls with it. Now that the blonde’s gotten closer, he can clearly tell that he’s wearing the ugliest beach shorts he’s ever seen. They’re a bright pink with flamingos on it. It’s so tacky he could faint.

The dude suddenly turns in his direction and he flinches. What the fuck. He didn’t expect him to look this way. He clears his throat, looks up to the sky and kicks his feet in the sand, pretending he wasn’t just staring at him. Then very slowly, he turns away and climbs back into his hut. His photos are ruined and he’s not in the mood anymore anyway.

He doesn’t like photographing people. Probably because he doesn’t like people, period. Humans are obnoxious and nosy. They can’t mind their own god damn business. When you’re successful they suck up to you ; when you’re not, they seize the opportunity and immediately trash you. It’s that easy. Animals are way better. For starters : they don’t talk. That’s a great advantage already.

He lies flat in his bed. His flip-flops pop off his feet and fall to the floor. He stays still for a few minutes, staring at the wooden ceiling. There’s nothing to do. He’s so fucking bored. So he gets up again and searches for something to eat, since there’s nothing else he can do. He finds some old rice cakes. They’re bland as all hell but the mart’s too far away and he has no money left. He comes out the door, sits on the porch, legs dangling off. He munches on his dry snacks while gazing at the ocean. It’s not that bad.

A gust of wind sends a handful of sand in his face. He catches some in his eye. He instantly regrets thinking it was okay. It’s not. This sucks.

“Fucking hell,” he grumbles.

His rice cake’s covered in it too. He chucks it near the water. A whole swarm of seagulls scrambles to fight for it. He doesn’t want them to hurt each other, so he gives them some more. That way they can share. A few seconds and he realizes he just gave his last bit of food to some suspiciously fat birds. They’re probably not hungry or starving at all. At least not more than he is. And he’s more stupid than he thought.

When night’s about to fall, he decides to get back inside. Or rather, the mosquitoes make him. He slams the door as quickly as he can, to prevent any insects from getting in. His whole shack rumbles as he does. One of his shelves separates from his wall and crashes down. With everything that was on it.

He looks down at his naked feet. His room’s a mess now. He crouches down slowly, ignores all the other objects that have also fallen and grabs a part of a tiny statuette, now broken into pieces. He tries to gather all the shards scattered about. The glass stand is mostly intact, along with the iron plaque. The rest is completely shattered. He’s not even sure he successfully collected all of it.

“Today’s really the shittiest day, huh.”

He turns on his desk lamp, and places everything on the table. He doesn’t have any glue to put it all back together. So he just sits there and stares at the broken sculpture. Honestly he’s wanted to smash it multiple times before, but he didn’t think actually breaking it would make him feel this bad. He sighs and stands back up. It’s a stupid thing anyway. He doesn’t even know why he’s kept it all this time.

He spends the whole night flipping through the pages of an old portfolio he’s studied a hundred times. He has a ton of books, but for some reason he always comes back to this one in particular.

He falls asleep around five and stays in bed until midday. When he opens his eyes, the sun’s shining on his face and it hurts. He yawns, stretches and forces himself to get up. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks around. His stomach hurts. Probably because he’s hungry as fuck and hasn’t eaten anything decent in days. He exhales slowly. Seems like it’s time to find some work.

He takes a quick shower. The water’s cold as always, but it feels nice because his cabin gets insanely warm during summer. He dresses lightly, grabs his bag and a bucket hat. He’s going to be sweating a lot and he already hates the thought.

It takes him thirty minutes to get to the village. The sun’s blazing and he feels dizzy just standing under it. The town’s tiny white houses look blinding under the scorching heat. It’s such a small place the paths aren’t even paved. Then again it’s not like anyone would drive their car here anyway.

He walks by the sea, taking in the soft wind. The grass’s greener here, for some reason. In the distance, he can see the wooden docks extending out into the sea. It’s bustling with people coming back and forth. There’s a fishing boat hooked up there. Sometimes crews stop by this place to take a rest for a few days. It happens every now and then. They make a mess out of everything, drink all the alcohol and harass all the women, and then they leave as quickly as they came.

He goes through the whole village to get to where he needs to be. It’s a fucking hassle, really. He keeps crossing paths with people he doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t like them and they don’t like him much either.

They all know about him, for some reason. He’s been living in his cottage for six years and they still give him the weird looks whenever he comes into town. Actually, maybe he’s also giving them the weird look.

He finally gets there. It’s another one of those tiny rural houses, except this one’s painted in orange. He has no idea why. He climbs up the stairs leading to the front door, and knocks a few times, hard. He knows the old man that lives there can’t hear well.

The door opens and it’s not the old man. It’s Yunhyeong, his flashy grandson. Hanbin looks him up and down. He’s bleached his hair platinum blonde, and he’s wearing the weirdest combination of patterned clothing. It looks like a parrot puked on him. He instantly closes his eyes. He can’t look at it too long or he’s going to ascend to the astral plane.

“Hanbin ! Did you come to see grandpa ?”

Hanbin nods. The other lets him in, walks him through the narrow entrance, all the way to their living room. It smells like fresh fruits and sugar in there. There’s an old fan working hard in the corner, pushing lukewarm air their way. As in any other old person’s house, there are useless trinkets everywhere. On the long dining table, on the wooden cabinet, on the shelves. By the staircase leading to the second floor, there are a shit ton of family photos he bets no one even looks at anymore.

“He’s gone out for a bit. He’ll be back soon though !”

Yunhyeong makes him sit on the sofa. In a flash he runs to the kitchen and comes back with iced peach tea. He then settles down next to him and watches him intently as he drinks it. If Hanbin wasn’t so used to it, he’d probably choke. But the blonde’s a weirdo and he does that every time. He’s basically like a huge golden retriever ; he’s loud, he doesn’t care about boundaries, and he’s overly cheerful. His face’s decent looking and girls love him around here… at least until he opens his mouth.

They wait. Hanbin would trade Yunhyeong’s endless chattering for awkward silence anytime. He hates making small talk, it sucks the life out of him. He does it anyway. He owes this family a lot.

Finally, the old man comes in. Hanbin instantly gets up and greets him. When he said he didn’t like people, he was lying. He doesn’t like most people. This person’s an exception. He’s the nicest looking grandpa that’s ever graced this earth. He’s too thin to be in great health and his hands are shaking, but he’s full of life and energy.

“Hanbin ! You finally stepped out of your hut, huh,” he says laughing. His voice’s trembling a little, but it’s clear and lively. “Let me guess, you’re starving again.”

He’s spot on. That’s literally the only reason he ever comes into town. When he’s hungry and needs money to buy food.

“Eat and drink something first. I’m not letting you go to work in that heat on an empty stomach.”

Yunhyeong doesn’t need to be told twice. Five minutes later the table’s set. Hanbin sits down on one of the six chairs, a bit uncomfortable. There’s cow milk, fresh bread, different types of jam and butter. It looks fancy as fuck. He’s not sure he deserves something like this.

Eventually they all end up eating. It’s too good for words. He hasn’t had such good food in forever. The jams and bread are handmade. The rest, they bought from their neighbors on the market this morning. It’s delicious. When he’s done, he bashfully says thanks. Grandpa pats his shoulder and says it’s nothing. His grandson and him both grab a big basket, that they put on their shoulders like a backpack. They wave the old man goodbye, and head to work.

The peach plantation is just outside town, a few meters away from their house. The trees are covered in ripe fruits, and it’s time to collect them. Hanbin settles his basket down on the ground, in a dip so it won’t tumble over. Then he puts his bucket hat on, and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

They work for hours. Collecting peaches is tiring work. It’s hard on the back. Hanbin’s being very careful, because the fruits bruise easily when they’re this ripe. Whenever their basket is full, they go all the way back to the house. In the backyard there’s a huge shed. They dump it there and head back immediately. They do this all over again, until it’s too dark outside too see anything anymore. They dump the last batch of peaches in the storage, and they’re finally done. He groans and crouches down. His legs, back and arms hurt so fucking much. Yunhyeong keeps laughing and roaming the place. He looks completely fine.

They head back in. Grandpa’s sitting in his armchair, reading a book. He takes his tiny glasses off when he sees them.

“You worked hard,” he compliments them.

The boys both sit on the couch again. Hanbin fights the urge to just lay there and fall asleep. The old man heads up the stairs and comes back a few minutes later, holding a white envelope. He gives it to Hanbin and commends him again. He bows his head and feels grateful. If it wasn’t for this family, he doesn’t know where he would’ve found any work.

“Hanbin !” He’s about to leave, when Yunhyeong stops him. He turns back questioningly. “Can I talk to you for a second ?”

Hanbin’s perplexed, but agrees nonetheless. They step outside, under the shining lantern, and close the door behind themselves.

“A friend of mine manages a traveling blog,” he says looking unsure. “They want to recommend our town and its surroundings, but they’d need good photos for that.”

Hanbin knows where this is going, at it’s already making him stiff. His face tenses up. Yunhyeong doesn’t notice. He’s way too much of an innocent dumbass to realize anyway.

“There’s no one in the village that can take the job except for you,” he explains. “And of course you’d be compensated ! You wouldn’t work for free !” he exclaims cheerfully.

He stops talking and this time without fail, there’s an awkward silence. Hanbin looks down at their feet. It sounds like an okay job. Anyone else in his situation would accept. Making money doing what he loves, rather than having to collect peaches ? That sounds great.

“Sorry,” he blurts out. “I don’t want to sell my photos.”

Yunhyeong looks stunned. Poor guy, he probably thought he was doing him a favor. Hanbin appreciates it, although he doesn’t show it.

“Oh. I see ! It’s fine,” the grandson says, trying to lift up the mood.

“Thanks though.”

Yunhyeong laughs, pats him on the back and tells him not to worry about it. Hanbin says goodbye and heads down the stairs. On the way home he can’t stop thinking about it. It’s not really that he doesn’t want to sell his photos. It’s more like he can’t.

He stops by the tiny mart that’s open all day and buys food. Enough so he won’t have to come back for at least two weeks. When he opens the envelope with the money inside, he notices he’s been given much more than what he should have gotten. Grandpa’s spoiling him. It makes him want to curl up into a ball and cry. Does he look that miserable, that an old man who’s not even his family would give him allowance ? He’s so fucking pathetic it hurts.

He gets home, showers, and doesn’t even eat dinner. He was feeling great a while ago, but now his mood and confidence are all the way back down. It’s that easy to bring him down. Suggest him a nice job and pamper him.

He sits on his chair and doesn’t do anything. Until a familiar buzzing comes from one of his desk’s drawers. He knows what it’s from but still checks it anyway. He opens the drawer and there, sitting on a bunch of old prints, is his smartphone. The screen’s lit up with his mom’s name. She tries to reach him from time to time. She sends tons of texts asking where he is, and what he’s doing. He’s getting tired of it. He did think about changing numbers, but he doesn’t have the money. So he almost doesn’t use his phone instead. It just stays there so he’s not bothered by it. The calls stop eventually. She always gives up after a few tries. He closes the drawer.

He spends the whole night working on stuff. He knows it’s useless and it’s not doing anything for him, but he just enjoys it. Editing photos, reading articles, checking out other photographers. He has no idea what he’ll do tomorrow, but that’s a problem for later. That’s how he lives. Day by day. He doesn’t worry about things until they’re coming right at him.

By the time he wakes up, it’s noon again. He has the messiest sleep cycle. He just can’t fall asleep if he’s not exhausted out of his mind. If his eyelids can physically stay open, he just stays awake. There’s too much on his mind for him to fall asleep with enough energy to overthink.

But now he’s up, the sun’s high in the sky, and he can barely keep his eyes open. He tells himself he absolutely cannot fall back asleep immediately. That’d be dumb. He doesn’t want to waste away his day. It’s not like there’s much to do, but it’d still be a waste.

So he scrambles to the door, all the way to the beach, and little by little he walks into the cold sea. When the water's up to his shoulders and the waves push his weary body back and forth, he dives and stays underwater for a few seconds.

When he comes out, he feels refreshed. He’s definitely awake now. His hair and clothes are soaked but it’s fine. He looks like a crackhead but it’s fine. There’s no one there to witness it. He turns back towards the shore, ready to get out. But then something catches his attention, and he freezes.

Holy shit. It’s the dude. The golden haired surfer that ruined his shot. He’s sitting on his board a few meters away, looking straight at him. What’s he looking at ? What’s so interesting ? Hanbin feels like picking a fight, but doesn’t actually want trouble.

Then the guy smiles at him, nods his head a bit, and makes a weird “call me” gesture with his hand. He’s stunned. He’s definitely the weirdest motherfucker he’s ever met. Why the fuck would he call him ? How ? They don’t even know each other. He gets out the water, confused. The other just goes back to his surfing, although the waves aren’t that great today.

Hanbin sits shirtless on his porch, waiting for his body to dry. He watches the other man go back and forth the lagoon, as he sits on his board and paddles with his arms. He finds there’s something peaceful and satisfying in the way the gentle waves lift him up and down, in the way he easily slides across the ocean like they’re both working together. It’s beautiful.

Suddenly his hands are itching. His thoughts are all over the place. He doesn’t know why it’s happening this time. It shouldn’t.

The surfer’s body disappears for a second in between two waves. Hanbin takes this opportunity to snap out of it. He’s still dripping salt water, but he heads back inside his cabin. He puts on clean clothes, grabs one of his bigger cameras, and goes out opposite from the ocean. Until he’s standing in a field of dry, yellowish grass, with nothing interesting to see. He crouches and brings the camera close to his face. His large lens helps him see things he wouldn’t usually be able to spot. The tiniest ladybug, sitting on a broken leaf. This poor flower someone seems to have trampled on the stem of. A lizard’s tail, poking out of its hiding spot. That’s what he loves the most about it. Seeing things that other people don’t see. He feels like he’s entered a world no one else holds the secret of. He feels like he’s created some intimacy with whatever he’s photographing, like he’s become a tiny part of their existence now. Maybe that’s why he would never use people as models.

He doesn’t come back home until night. He hopes maybe the blonde won’t be here tomorrow, so he won’t have to put up with his presence on his beach. No one would ever come near before, so why would this nutcase be the one to stick around ? It’s more comfortable to be alone.

He forces himself out of bed at ten in the morning. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting exactly, but he immediately looks out the window. And without fail, the surfer’s there, riding the waves. They look great today. The water’s clear and shiny, the sun makes it sparkle all over, and his tanned figure contrasts so prettily with the cloudless sky.

He’s fidgeting with his hands again. Like they’re aching to do something. And this ache, he knows exactly how to relieve it. So this time he doesn’t hold back. He’s bored as all hell anyway.

He grabs his best camera, large lens, and heads out. As soon as he aligns his eyes with the reticle, he gets a close look at the stranger’s eyes. There’s wet hair sticking to his forehead, tiny droplets flying all around. He’s squinting ever so slightly. It looks beautiful.

Hanbin takes close up shots of his clenched jaw, his rough hands holding his board, sea water hitting his back and shoulders, sunlight filtering through the foam. He’s not interested in those awesome looking photos of hot dudes surfing. He’s not interested in showing just how big the wave he’s riding is. What he wants to do, is step closer. Engage in the moment. And as he takes those shots, his heart’s beating like he’s standing on that board, too. He’s feeling the thrill, it makes him shiver all over.

He doesn’t stop shooting when the blonde comes out the water. He keeps snapping photos. Maybe at this point it’s more like intruding than engaging, but he doesn’t stop. Water droplets sliding down his strong arms, his feet in the damp sand, his golden hair. His fingers sliding under his short’s waistband.

He suddenly stops and puts his camera down. The dude’s getting undressed. He clears his throat and turns away. He might be taking shots in secret like a creep, but he’s not interested in shooting porn.

He rushes back inside his cottage. His heart’s beating so loudly in his ribcage he can barely hear anything else. He’s never felt this way before. He feels like he’s electrified, and it’s tickling all over. When he snaps nature pictures, it feels calm and peaceful. But when he takes photos of this dude… it feels like a rush of blood to his head. It feels like jumping off a cliff only attached by the feet. It feels like a cold wave hitting him straight in the face. It hurts but it’s so good. The adrenaline.

He immediately sits by his desk, and downloads the pictures on his computer. He can then look at them more closely, and they’re even better than he’d first thought. He’s short of breath just staring at it. He spends all day editing them, to make them look even better. He doesn’t stop to eat, or take a breather. This is what’s keeping him alive.

He posts them on his blog around midnight. It’s just archiving at this point, because he knows no one’s going to see it. It just feels good to know those photos are up somewhere on the internet. It’s the first time he’s posted anything other than nature on his blog. His first human model. That’s weird, and kind of scary.

He struggles to go to sleep. The energy rush just won’t calm down. Every time he closes his eyes he can picture it again. This guy’s body through his reticle. The way he was able to make something that goes by so fast into a moment that will last forever. Just thinking about it makes his heart pound some more. It’s amazing. He forces himself to close his eyes.

When he wakes up the next day, the rush’s gone. And he feels like shit. He regrets everything he did the day before. He shouldn’t have yielded to this urge. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his head, thinking back on all the stuff he did yesterday. That was stupid of him. What the fuck was he thinking ?

His phone’s going off in his drawer, and it’s driving him even crazier. Those photos probably weren’t even that good anyway. He gets up to take a look at them again. His old computer takes forever to turn on. His phone keeps buzzing. It’s driving him mad. Today his mother just won’t stop bothering him, huh.

While he waits, he opens his drawer and takes a quick look at it. He stops and his brows furrow. It’s not his mom. It’s notifications from his website flooding his mailbox. He grabs the phone and looks into it more. He has no idea what’s happening.

His computer screen lights up. He lets go of his smartphone, and takes a look at the photos again. As he thought, he was wrong. They’re not good. They’re amazing. He loves them even more than he did yesterday in the heat of the moment. How the fuck is that possible ?

His phone buzzes some more. Curious, he loads into his blog. A shit ton of notifications appear on his screen, then his computer crashes. He kicks the system unit and starts it back up.

His blog’s flooded with comments. Overnight, it got so many visitors he can’t even fathom it. He has no idea what’s happening. They’re all saying the shots are amazing and the surfer’s handsome. Some wonder where the photos were taken, others are asking who the model is. His stuff is being shared everywhere, it’s spreading like wildfire. It makes no fucking sense. Why all of a sudden ? He’s been doing this for six fucking years, and it’s only blowing up now ? Why ?

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone out the window. It’s him again, that surfer. He stares at him, perplexed.

Because of him ?

He watches him take his shirt off, and sit by his board. He observes him as he rubs the yellow surface with something that looks like soap.

He immediately gets up, grabs his camera, and heads out. From far away, he crouches in the sand, and snaps away. It doesn’t matter why. It doesn’t matter who. What’s important is this exhilarating feeling.

And he wants more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i'm not translating this one, i'm writing it directly in english, and holy fuck it's hard  
> it takes me a little more effort and time so please bear with me
> 
> i'm pretty happy with it so far !!  
> i'm trying to be a little more carefree in the way i'm writing (if that makes sense) and i'm having fun  
> hope you enjoyed it !


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